


Singing Whale

by cobain_cleopatra



Series: Little Crow [3]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Dishonored AU, First Time, Fluff, Grumpy Daud, M/M, Pining, Slight descriptions of torture, Slow Burn, Smut, Snarky Corvo, The Brigmore Witches DLC, Understanding, Violence, Vulnerability, whaler Corvo, younger Corvo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-26 10:44:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7571215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobain_cleopatra/pseuds/cobain_cleopatra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Billie's betrayal and Corvo's capture, Daud and the men are in ruins. All that's left for them is stopping Delilah.<br/>But Corvo isn't finished with yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The aftermath

_“You did this.”_

_“Delilah wanted me to turn on you. But I can’t go through with it.”_

_Billie stood before him, bloodstained and guilt ridden. The Overseers were beaten. Daud had seen to that personally; cut them all down himself in his fury. Billie’s plans were ruined, and she knew it._

_“I think it was always understood between us. That I’d see my moment and take your place. I moved too early. You weren’t weak, like I thought.”_

_“Six of my men are dead.”_

_Billie wouldn’t look at him. Her fingers were trembling. “I know.”_

_“Why?” Daud didn’t know what else to ask._

_“Hume said he wouldn’t hurt them. I didn’t mean for anyone to die–”_

_“But they did. Because of you. Because of what you’ve done,” Daud bit out. “I murdered an Empress to keep the Overseers from us. And you_ led _them here?”_

_“I thought –”_

_“Don’t you dare try and appease for this.”_

_The aftermath of the battle was devastating. The walkways were bloody with Overseer bodies, and the ones Daud hadn’t slaughtered were captured; on their knees outside the Chamber, each guarded by one of Daud’s men._

_“I won’t apologise, if you don’t want me to. And I won’t try to make excuses. There aren’t any. I was wrong.” Billie drew her sword, and the Whalers around them tensed, all eyes on her as they anticipated an attack. She just knelt, and held the blade out to Daud. “My life is yours now. Kill me or let me live. If it even matters to you.”_

_Daud looked his second in command over, heart in his throat. How had it come to this? His own man, his most trusted, a traitor. He blamed himself. He’d been stubborn, ignorant. A fool._

_Corvo had said so himself._ 'You are the most stubborn, pigheaded man in the world! Just _listen_ to me!'

_Daud glanced down at the offered sword. He didn’t take it, not yet. Considering Billie’s words, in that moment there was only one thing that mattered to him._

_“Where’s Corvo?”_

_Billie didn’t answer._

_Daud’s breath hissed through his teeth. “Billie. Where is Corvo?”_

_She lowered her head. “I’m sorry.”_

***

Daud woke with a start. Breathless. Sweating. Cold all over. One week since it happened. One week since he returned to find his home overrun, and six of his men lying lifeless around the District. How had he been such a fool? He slid his legs over the edge of the bed, sitting and running his fingers through sweat-soaked hair. How could he have let this happen?

The names repeated over and over. Petro. Anatole. Fergus. Misha. Leon. Devon.

_Corvo_

Daud closed his eyes. Breathed in. Breathed out. Waited for his chest to loosen and the remorse to subside enough that he was able to move again.

He stood and paced, working the muscles of his back and shoulders in the room’s early morning chill. Outside, it was on the precipice between dark and light. The men were ordered to be awake and ready before sunrise. They would be here soon.

Daud’s shirt was still lying on the floor, worn and creased, where he’d flung it last night. He shrugged it back on. No time to waste, bustling through the chests for a fresh one. As he descended the stairs, he scowled at the Overseer drapes still hanging over the windows. Overseer Hume had a nerve, laying a claim like that on this place. And he’d paid for it, dearly.

Two thirds of the Overseers had died by Daud’s hand. He had never felt a rage like it, had never struck down so many in such a short time. The Overseers who were alive had been put in the cages opposite the Grieves Refinery. Daud would figure out what to do with them later.

He had gotten to the desk when the first of his Whalers entered, blonde hair ruffled from his sleep. Thomas. Always up bright and early, always following his orders to the letter. Daud made him second in command a few days ago.

“Good morning, Sir.”

“Thomas.”

“The men are preparing as we speak. They’ll be here shortly.” Thomas approached the desk and placed his hands behind his back. “Shall we get started?”

The morning came and went quickly. The master assassins gathered, and were assigned their Districts for the search. Daud sat rigid during their absence. Each time a Whaler returned, his stomach turned in anticipation, until they provided their bad news. _No word on Lizzie Stride, Sir._ He nodded, dismissed them, and waited for the next to arrive.

They knew where Delilah and her coven were hiding. Brigmore Manor, in the Mutcherhaven District out past the blockades. To reach it, they needed a ship and someone to captain it. Daud’s best choice was Lizzie Stride and her gang, the Dead Eels. But there hadn’t been a trace of her all week. Daud was running out of patience. He had to know what Delilah was up to, or this would have all been for nothing.

He wanted her head for what she’d done. Taking Billie from them. Sending the Overseers into their home.

_Corvo_

His fist closed, nails digging into his palm. The pain grounded him quickly. Daud couldn’t spare time for these thoughts, not now. Not when Delilah was still out there, free and unscathed, while he and his men were in ruins.

It was midday when Thomas, stood dutifully at his side, finally spoke again. “Should I be out there too, Sir?”

Daud wavered. Thomas was a good scout, the best next to Billie and–

_Corvo_

He grit his teeth. “I’d rather not risk it.”

Thomas nodded. He was silent for a time, until he eventually began shuffling. Daud tried not to sigh. The Whaler took to shuffling around when he wanted to argue.

“I’d prefer you to speak up, Thomas. Before you break the floorboards with your fidgeting.”

“Sorry.” Thomas hesitated, eyes focused downwards as he considered his wording. “I’d find Stride faster than the others, Sir.”

Daud blinked. That was a little blunt for mild-mannered Thomas. It sounded more like something–

_Corvo would say_

Daud almost broke the pen he was holding.

Thomas mistook it for irritation. “I don’t mean to be forward, Sir.”

“Don’t apologise,” Daud said. “You’re good, it’s true. That’s why I want you here.” _Delilah won’t take you from us too._

“Please, Sir. If I don’t find something today, I won’t request to go again,” Thomas assured.

Daud relented. Thomas was smart, and more importantly, loyal. He deserved the benefit of the doubt. “Very well. Only today.”

Thomas retrieved his whaling mask from the desk.

“Take my wristbow,” Daud added. “It reloads faster than the others.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Thomas took it and slot it into the straps on his glove. He walked to the doors. “I’ll check around Dunwall Tower. The Regent’s security has been lax these past months, since Sokolov installed the watch tower in the courtyard.”

“Don’t get close enough to see how well the new addition works.”

“I won’t, Sir. I’ll return before tomorrow morning.” Thomas disappeared.

Leonid and Vladko entered the office shortly after. At a quick glance, Daud thought Vladko was Corvo. They had the same dark hair, and knitted eyebrows that always made them look like they were glaring. Vladko was shorter though, broader too. Daud’s insides wrenched at the distinction.

He beckoned the Whalers over. “Anything?”

Leonid shook her head. “Nothing in the Tailor’s District.”

“We spoke to Edgar Wakefield, Stride’s first mate,” Vladko said heavily. “He said Stride merely disappeared one morning. Not sure if I believe it, but I couldn’t get anything more out of him.”

Daud grunted. “I’d ask you both to return and muscle whatever he knows out of him. But we need the Eels on our side.”

Vladko gave a nod. “That was our thought, Sir.”

“Is there any more you wish us to do?” Leonid asked.

“No. You’ve done enough for today.” Daud dismissed them. The Whalers bowed, and then left.

The master assassins returned one by one. Those who were closest to Corvo were the hardest to look in the eye. Feodor. Jenkins. Jordan. Galia. Quinn was the worst. He hadn’t even uttered a word to Daud. Just dropped off his report and left. Even Arden, brash and filthy-mouthed Arden, was quiet. He had seen their fight, after all, and he looked as sorry as Daud felt for not doing more that day.

After a few hours, Daud began to regret sending Thomas away. Being alone meant nothing to distract him from his own mind, and that was always a dangerous thing. For the last week, Daud’s thoughts always returned to their fight. The desperation in Corvo’s eyes, his voice, the need to be heard. Daud hadn’t heard. He was far too proud, too obstinate to listen to something he didn’t want to hear. Corvo had been trying to protect him. Daud pushed him aside.

“Fool,” he muttered.

The doors opened again, making Daud look up sharply. Rulfio had been scouring the District for any gear the Overseers had left lying around. He carried a pile of Overseer sabres in his arms, and dropped them onto the desk when he neared.

“This is the rest of what Dimitri and I could find. We’ve stored the music boxes with the prisoners,” Rulfio informed him. “Nasty things. I suppose we’ll get a better look at them once the witch has been dealt with.”

“The Overseers aren’t a priority for now. I doubt any more will show their faces here again, after news of their defeat has spread.”

Rulfio hummed. “Quite the defeat it was, too, considering their numbers. Only seven of ours dead. Could’ve been worse.”

Daud winced at the bitterness to Rulfio’s tone. Not six dead. _Seven_.

“Rulfio–”

The Whaler held up a hand. “I don’t want to argue. I don’t have the fucking strength after everything that’s happened.”

Daud knew exactly how he felt. They were all exhausted. But no matter that tensions were high and suspicions strong; they had to stand together now. Billie’s betrayal had shaken them all. And Corvo’s fate–

Daud cleared his throat. “I’d rather you say whatever you’re holding back, so you can clear your head. This isn’t the time for distractions.”

“Distractions,” Rulfio sneered. “The men mourning Corvo is a distraction? I apologise. I had no idea our grief was so inconvenient for you.”

Daud felt like he’d been punched in the gut. “That’s not what I meant–”

Rulfio held up his hand again. “I really don’t want to argue. Truth be told, there’s nothing to argue about. What’s done is done.”

“If you have something to say to me–”

“I have a great many things to say to you,” Rulfio assured. “But none of which will change what’s happened. We burned six men last week. Billie betrayed us. Corvo was likely tortured before the Overseers killed him. They’re gone. Nothing to be done about it.”

“Rulfio–”

“Don’t. There is nothing to say that can make this better.” Rulfio’s voice was uneven, as though something had lodged itself in his throat. He swallowed, and it looked painful. “I’ve known that kid since the day you brought him here. He didn’t deserve to die somewhere like that.”

Daud closed his eyes. Billie had revealed where Corvo was taken. Holger Square. It was well known that any man taken there didn’t last long. Nowhere near long enough to rescue.

“Did he ever tell you?” Rulfio asked. “Corvo. Did he ever tell you about the Fugue Feasts?”

Daud didn’t reply. His silence was answer enough.

“He would have done anything. _Anything_ you asked him to do,” Rulfio scoffed. “He was fucking devoted to you. Every Feast for ten years, he made sure your drunken, sorry self came back alive.” His expression was sombre, angry. His eyes were wet. “A fucking shame you couldn’t do him the same courtesy. You didn’t deserve him.”

Rulfio turned and left the way he’d come. Daud watched his retreating form. The Whaler’s shoulders were shaking as he walked away.

The surroundings, the office, the books, the target portraits on the walls, suddenly seemed distant, hazy. Daud sat, still and silent, at the desk. It was a while before he could make himself move. He climbed the stairs to the bedroom slowly, as though gravity had increased tenfold. His legs felt numb.

He stood at the top of the steps. It was becoming dark now, and it had started to rain. The drops were light and barely noticeable, but to Daud they sounded like hail against the glass. He sagged down onto the floor, against the bed; the position echoed the night of Jessamine’s assassination. Daud wanted to tear everything within reach apart, as he had done that night. But it hadn’t changed what he'd done then. It certainly wouldn’t now.

He laid his forehead against the mattress. It was cold, soft. Nothing like Corvo’s shoulder. He remembered the feel of it under his cheek all those months ago, as he’d broken down when the young Whaler had refused to leave him alone.

He was alone now. He wished he weren’t.

The rain outside became heavier. Daud remained where he was, praying to anything that would listen, the stars and the Outsider alike, that Corvo hadn’t suffered too much.

***

In Holger Square, Corvo pressed the heretic’s brand to Campbell’s face.


	2. The High Overseer

The Overseer clicked the switch, and the player began recording. “Overseer Marcus. Seventh day. Interrogation attempt fourteen.”

He walked to the small fire beside the interrogation chair, and removed one of the pokers. He circled the chair and the figure strapped inside.

“Our prisoner is male. Mid-twenties. Dark hair and eyes. Serkonan, from the look of it.” He gripped Corvo’s hair and shoved his head forward, exposing the back of his neck. “Unusual tattooing on the neck, back and arms. Probably superstitious heresy.”

Marcus eased the poker’s burning tip against the uncovered skin. Corvo clenched his teeth, and didn’t make a sound.

“Your spirit offends me greatly.” Marcus released his hair, and came so stand in front. “But you will break. I’ll see to that myself.”

“Ambitious.” Corvo’s voice was rough, from lack of use and lack of water. “It’s been a week.”

“You’ve lasted longer than most, I’ll admit. Longer than the last of Daud’s men we caught.”

Corvo glared. He remembered Javier. A cocky bastard, which is what got him caught, but a good man. He missed seeing him around the Chamber.

“But you’ll realize soon that your defiance is pointless,” Marcus hissed. “No one is coming for you, heretic.”

Corvo knew that. Any man brought to Holger Square was assumed dead. Corvo was actually surprised he’d been kept alive this long. He didn’t expect nor want Daud and the others to waste time looking for him. They had more important things to be looking for.

Corvo glimpsed around the interrogation room while Marcus placed the poker back in the flames, heating it again. The space was dark. Cold. Bars and chains everywhere. A small blood stain, just left of the door, that Corvo could always find with one glance. He hated how familiar he’d become with this room.

“If you tell me something small for now, perhaps you’ll be fed tonight,” Marcus tempted. “Your name. What is your name?”

Corvo said nothing.

Marcus grabbed his hair again, baring his jaw and pushing the poker against it. Sudden. No warning. Corvo did cry out this time, a shocked, frustrated sound, and then he swallowed the pain down.

“You have no more reason to resist. No more reason to hide your secrets,” Marcus sneered. The Overseer wasn’t able to hide his budding aggravation. “Your master is dead. He was killed by Hume in the surge.”

Corvo’s jaw was scalded and stinging. But he smiled. “Restrict the lying tongue.”

The poker smacked against his face, and the force would have knocked him to the floor if not for the chair’s restraints holding him in. Corvo’s mouth filled with blood, but still he smiled.

He knew Daud wasn’t dead. Two nights ago, High Overseer Campbell had happened to be wandering through the prisoner’s block, accompanied by a few whores and a bottle of Morley brandy. Campbell was loud when he’d been drinking, and in ear of Corvo’s cell, he had let slip word of Hume’s defeat.

Corvo had laughed for the rest of the night, until his throat was raw and a few Overseers came to shut him up.

“You will be broken. And I’ll be the one to do it,” Marcus vowed. He gripped Corvo’s chin hard, pulling his head upwards. “Tell me your name. Tell me of Daud.”

Corvo spat blood in his face. Marcus reeled back, dropping the poker. He took Corvo’s hair again and swung at him with his fist. Corvo felt his cheek split, and more blood seeped into his mouth.

He choked out a laugh. “You hit like a Tyvian maid.”

Marcus’s nostrils flared. “I shall give you only _one_ more chance to talk,” he warned. He pulled Corvo closer by the collar of his shirt. Their faces were inches apart. “Tell me of Daud.”

Corvo lunged forward and caught Marcus’s bottom lip between his teeth. The Overseer wailed, and Corvo bit down, tearing some of the Overseer’s skin away when he wrenched back. Corvo let the flesh drop from his mouth, licking the blood from his lips.

“Savage heathen!” Marcus drew his sabre and pointed the tip to Corvo’s chest. “You will die here, do you understand?! You will die by my hand this very night!”

Corvo looked him in the eye and leaned forward, pressing closer to the weapon.

“So be it,” Marcus spat.

He sank the sabre in far enough to break Corvo’s skin, before an alarm sounded outside. Marcus paused. Then the door swung open.

Another Overseer burst in.

“Brother Marcus!”

“Brother Sturgis.” Marcus examined his distressed comrade. “What ever–”

“Pickard sounded the alarm,” Overseer Sturgis panted. “There’s something outside– it was spotted in the courtyard. Whatever it was, it wasn’t human– I didn’t see it, but Pickard did and he’s shaken up worse than I’ve ever seen him– We need you, we don’t know what it is, but it needs to be subdued before the Watch Captain arrives!”

“Calm yourself, brother.” Marcus withdrew the sabre. He glowered at Corvo before he moved for the door. “This is not over, assassin. I will return in due time.”

He and his comrade left, and the door closed behind them.

Corvo worked his burnt and battered jaw, wincing as he did. Marcus didn’t hit like a Tyvian maid. Corvo watched the blood from his mouth drip onto the floor, creating puddles atop the interrogation room’s already bloodstained slabs.

He’d lasted here long enough. And he hadn’t uttered a word of Daud. Daud was alive. He was safe. Corvo could die tonight without regret. He chewed on the inside of his mouth. That wasn’t true. He and Daud had parted badly. Corvo wished he could have told him what he meant to him. Or held him again, as he did six months ago. Just once.

He exhaled shakily and shook the thoughts off. It didn’t matter. Daud would live. Corvo couldn’t ask for more than that. He continued to just breathe while he could, letting the blood on his face dry as the minutes passed.

The door creaked quietly as it opened again.

Corvo closed his eyes. With his head lowered, his matted hair obscured his view of the room anyway.

A cold finger ran along his jaw, and gently tilted his chin upwards. **“My dear Corvo.”**

Corvo stared at the man before him. Black eyes. Completely black, and pale skin. His stare was intense. And unnerving.

 **“What a sad hand fate has dealt you,”** the stranger mused.

“You’re not an Overseer.”

The stranger tilted his head. **“Such curiosity. Even in the face of death. Fascinating.”**

Corvo shivered at the word. “I know your voice.”

The stranger smiled, the movement little more than a twitch at his lips. **“At the slaughterhouse. After you spared that whale from its suffering. You remember that.”**

He held Corvo’s face in both hands, his thumbs stroking along the sharp edges of his jaw. The coolness of his skin soothed the burns there.

**“Do you know who I am, Corvo?”**

“Yes.”

**“Tell me."**

“The black eyed bastard Daud’s been complaining about since I met him.”

The Outsider chuckled, and the sound seemed to reverberate softly off the walls. **“Even after all that’s happened, your will is strong.”**

“You caused the alarm outside, didn’t you.”

**“I wanted a private audience with you. I find these cultists most tiresome. You, on the other hand, I have been eager to meet for a long time.”**

Corvo felt his expression become cagey. “What do you want with me?”

The abyss of the Outsider’s eyes wandered over his face, mapping every inch. Corvo remained warily still, as one would under the scrutiny of any strange creature.

**“You came to Dunwall young and lost and scared. And you grew into the man you are tonight. I have watched your every step, and I now find myself unfulfilled. Unsatisfied with simply watching. What do I want, you ask?”**

The Outsider trailed his fingers along Corvo’s jaw, over his shoulder, down his arm. He paused once he reached the back of Corvo’s left hand.

**“Why don’t we start with an arrangement?”**

“What kind of arrangement?”

 **“As you know, Thaddeus Campbell is the leader of a great cult dedicated to loathing me. His predecessors were tolerable. Campbell, on the other hand, has become rather tedious,”** the Outsider said boredly. **“I would like him gone.”**

Corvo raised an eyebrow, disbelieving. “You’re hiring me?”

**“Such a human concept. I suppose I must be.”**

“You’re powerful. You can’t get rid of him yourself?”

 **“Dear Corvo.”** His tone was almost reprimanding. **“How boring that would be.”**

“You have piss poor timing,” Corvo bit at him. “You could’ve done better to find me, than the second before Marcus ran me through with a sword.”

**“You were in no danger before, I assure you. Though I admired your devotion in that moment. You were truly ready to die tonight. And for a man such as Daud, no less.”**

Corvo didn’t answer.

 **“You will play a great role in the days to come, Corvo. I chose this night because something is about to happen.”** The Outsider brushed a strand of hair from Corvo’s eyes. **“The guard Captain Curnow will be here soon, and Campbell plans to poison him. I want to see what you’ll do.”**

Corvo adopted an expression of comfortable cynicism, and motioned to the cuffs holding his wrists to the chair. “The Overseers will come back here. What can I possibly do from my position?”

**“Campbell’s followers will indeed return, and should you remain here, you will leave this world with a sword through your heart and your spirit unbroken. But you don’t want to die to the sound of those idiots cheering as Brother Marcus stands over your corpse, do you? Let’s see if we can do better.”**

He pressed his lips to Corvo’s hand, and a black symbol seared itself there. Its burn was different to that of the poker. It was cold, as though ice were freezing over the surface of his skin. Corvo watched, rapt, until the Outsider pulled away.

 **“To make things more interesting.”** He released Corvo’s hand and stood. **“My mark. Consider it a gift.”**

The Outsider faded into the shadows, and the cuffs around Corvo’s wrists opened.

***

Windham should have known Darion would be here tonight.

The Watch Captain was meeting with Campbell upstairs, after all, and Darion was one of his best officers. The Overseer sometimes found that a hard thing to accept, considering how stupid Darion could be sometimes.

“You can’t be here.” Windham grabbed his sleeve. He dragged him out of the rain and behind one of the pillars in the courtyard. Once hidden, he moved his hand to cup the man’s jaw. “I told you, love. We can’t be seen, not here.”

Darion would have looked guilty, if he wasn’t leaning into the Overseer’s touch. “I know, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to put you in danger like this, but Curnow was already coming here, so he brought me along and I just– I haven’t seen you lately. I miss you.”

Windham softened and pressed their foreheads together. “I miss you too.” He pulled back and looked at Darion firmly. “But they almost caught us. Don’t you remember? We have to be more careful now.”

“They won’t catch us again,” Darion insisted. Windham let a smile slip at his lover’s ever blind optimism. “You threw them off.”

Windham winced, recalling the harsh words he had spouted in his panic, in his need to protect them from his brothers’ accusations. “You know I only said those things–”

Darion stopped him with a quick kiss, lips lingering the second before he pulled back. “Because you were protecting us,” he finished for him, smiling, devoted. “Where would we be without that silver tongue of yours?”

Windham blushed. After almost a year, he still wasn’t used to this. Teasing, flirting, shameless Darion, with his brown hair and bright eyes, and that stupid stubble that always felt so good against Windham’s thighs–

He dismissed those thoughts swiftly. This wasn’t the place or the time to throw his control into the wind. No matter how tempting the infuriating man in front of him was. _Restrict the wanton flesh._ Windham was a terrible Overseer.

“You have that look in your eye,” Darion said quietly. “I can always tell when you’re chastising yourself for something. What were you thinking about?”

“Nothing an Overseer should ever be thinking about,” Windham assured. He couldn’t make himself sound remorseful about it. “Darion, love, I know you mean well, but you can’t just turn up here–”

“Did you get my letter?” Darion cut him off.

“You know I did.”

A roguish smile spread across the guard’s face. “And?”

Windham sighed. He knew there would be no reasoning with the man until he answered. He discretely checked around, before dropping his head against Darion’s neck, his voice muffled by the collar of his uniform. “And I’ve read it a hundred times.”

He felt Darion’s fingers bury into his hair, stroking lightly. “I’m glad you liked it.”

“I’ve been carrying it around all week.”

“Good.”

“I have missed you. I really have.”

“I know.”

“And things will go back to normal soon. I promise.” Windham straightened up, and took Darion’s stupid, beautiful face between his hands again. “But we have to stay cautious for now. Please. At least warn me the next time you come here. The surprise nearly killed us both, I almost jumped into your arms.”

Darion laughed, and had to muffle the sudden sound behind his hand lest they were heard. “Imagine that. The stoic Overseer Windham, jumping one of the Watch Captain’s officers in Holger Square. We could share a cell and both be executed together.”

Windham wished he shared Darion’s easy humour, and he tried to smile. But the reality of the words made his heart ache and his muscles tense.

Darion pressed another kiss to the side of his mouth. “I’m sorry. I know you hate jokes like that.”

He knew Windham so well. “It’s alright, love. As loath as I am to admit it, I’ve missed your dreadful wit.”

Darion grinned, and for a moment the world felt right. Windham savoured it, then glanced to the Office.

“Campbell should have finished his meeting with your Captain by now. Curnow will notice if you’re gone too long.” He drew back, and the few steps between them suddenly felt like miles. “I’ll walk you up.”

They walked shoulder to shoulder, perhaps a centimetre too close to look subtle, but there weren’t many Overseers around. Most were still searching for whatever had set off the alarm in the courtyard an hour ago.

The rain had gotten heavier, and they hurried inside the Office.

The foyer was always too bright, and the colours made Windham’s eyes hurt; too much white and red, too regal-looking for men of the faith. The walls should be plain and humble, to attract ordinary citizens and make them feel welcome. The current decoration matched Campbell perfectly. Superior. Arrogant. Corrupt. Windham had never liked him.

“Restrict an errant mind,” Darion whispered to him. “I can hear you thinking too much.”

“And sometimes you don’t think enough.”

“I think about you plenty.”

They took the stairs. The meeting chamber was on the left side of the Office. Windham knocked to announce their presence, and then pushed open one of the doors, letting Darion through first.

“Such a gentleman,” he teased quietly, and Windham resisted the urge to nudge him in the ribs as he passed. “Captain Curnow, I’m sorry if I’m late. I was–” Darion stopped suddenly. “Windham.”

Windham joined his lover’s side. Curnow’s other officers were sat at the long dining table; their eyes closed, heads lolling, mouths open. Windham shivered at the eerie sight.

“Are they dead?”

Darion circled the table and nudged one of the Watch guards with his finger. A grunt. “Just unconscious. Someone’s knocked them out.” He scanned the room. “Curnow’s not here.”

“Nor Campbell.” Windham’s fingers rested on the handle of his sword. He inspected the empty wine bottle on the table. There were stains on the carpet underneath.

He knelt and ran his hand over it. His fingers came away wet, smelling of alcohol and something else, slightly more acidic than wine. For whatever reason, someone had spilled the bottle.

“This might be obvious,” Darion said slowly, “but I’m going to say it anyway. Something’s wrong.”

“I’ll sound the alarm. It will start a lock down, but there’s not much of a choice.” Windham drew his sword, and squeezed Darion’s hand quickly. “Stay close to me.”

They cautiously left the room and tread down the corridor. Darion’s fingers kept brushing against his gloved knuckles, the contact reassuring Windham of his presence every few steps. The alarm wasn’t far.

“Where are your brothers? Shouldn’t they be guarding the rooms? Or patrolling? Or giving sermons or something?”

“I don’t know.” Windham honestly didn’t. They hadn’t come across a single person yet. The Office seemed a lot bigger with no one else around.

Darion kept watch while Windham turned the wheel on the alarm, which should have activated it. It didn’t. He tried again. And again. Nothing.

Darion glanced at him. “Great time for it to be broken.”

“It’s not broken.” Windham opened the alarm panel on the wall. “It’s been rewired.”

“Can you rewire it again? Re-rewire it. Un-rewire it.” Darion gave up. “Can you make it work?”

Windham shook his head. “I don’t know how.”

Darion’s gaze was frozen towards the ceiling. “Windham–”

“Don’t worry, we’ll figure something out.”

“No, Windham–”

“It’s okay, love–”

Darion grabbed his chin and manoeuvred it upwards. “I found your brothers.”

Windham stared. The Overseers that should have been patrolling the hallways were sprawled on the metal girders and large hallway lights above them. Like Curnow’s guards, they lay limp but breathing, their limbs hanging over the sides of the girders as they snored softly.

“I swear I had a nightmare like this once. It’s even a dark and stormy night to top it off.” Darion’s attempt at a light tone was ruined by the tremor in his voice. “What the fuck is going on?”

Windham ran a thumb over his wrist to soothe him, but he was straining to hear a faint noise further along the corridor. The rain hammering against the windows wasn’t helping. Whatever it was sounded like a voice, stifled and struggling to form, but just about audible.

“Can you hear that?”

Darion glared. “Don’t say something like that now, of all times! As if I’m not shitting myself as it is–”

Windham clamped a hand over his mouth. “Listen.”

After a few moments, Darion’s eyes widened when he heard it. The sound was coming from the interrogation room.

Windham took his hand again, now uncaring who saw. Not that there was anyone left conscious to see. “Come on.”

Blades still gripped, they made their way past the archive room, glimpsing at the sleeping Overseers lying above them. If Darion hadn’t distracted him, he and Windham would have probably been among them.

They reached the interrogation chamber. Darion nudged open the door, and Windham went in first.

“Brother Marcus?”

The Overseer was cowered in a corner of the dark room, half-clothed and with his own gloves stuffed into his mouth. His hands had been strapped to the burning end of one of the pokers. Windham realized what the noise had been; Marcus was trying to cry out from beneath the makeshift gag.

“Outsider’s balls.” Darion gaped for a few moments until his voice returned. “Well, we found Campbell.”

In the centre, cuffed into the interrogation chair, was the High Overseer. Windham’s gaze fell on the heretic’s brand at Campbell’s feet, and then on the unmistakable burn marks that now marred his face.

While Darion crouched beside Marcus and tried to get him untied from the poker, Windham approached the chair. There was something attached to Campbell’s robes. He picked it up.

A page, torn from one of the books of strictures. Something had been handwritten on the back, in small, jagged letters.

Darion glanced over at him. “What’s that?”

“A note.”

“Did Campbell write it?”

Windham shook his head, bemused, and held it out for his lover to read.

 _Your High Overseer wasn’t one for the strictures._  
_Curnow is safe._

***

Corvo took a slow drag from his cigarette, and let the smoke seep from between his lips. Marcus was a prick, but he had good taste. Corvo had taken the whole cigarette packet, as well as the man’s shirt. A nice shirt it was, too. Black and well fitted around Corvo’s shoulders. He almost felt bad for leaving the Overseer as he did. Almost.

The docks beneath the Back Yard of the Office were quiet and abandoned. Corvo flicked the cigarette away and rested his head back against the wall, relishing the peace while it lasted. He let the rainfall wash the sweat and blood from his hair. Unlike a lot of Serkonans, he enjoyed the rain. Especially now, after a week indoors, not expecting to ever feel the cold drops again.

Corvo glanced at the new mark on his hand. He still felt the Arcane Bond that fixed him to Daud. Thankfully that hadn’t weakened, but his powers had radically changed. His transversal was different; flashier now, blue like lightening instead of the shadows he was used to disappearing in. He wasn't sure he liked it. It would certainly take some getting used to.

But Corvo wasn’t complaining. How could he? He was free. And now there was a chance he’d see Daud again. He just had to get to Rudshore.

Corvo forced himself to his feet before he ended up falling asleep. His legs fought him for it, but he eventually stood straight. With the state he was in, he was amazed he’d pulled off that stunt at the Office, let alone carried Curnow half way across Holger Square. He probably should have found a better place to store the Captain. Corvo brushed the guilt off. Curnow would smell of garbage for a few days, but at least he hadn’t been poisoned.

Corvo moved along the docks. The Flooded District was the other end of the city, but he could make it. He could.

His muscles seized, and he staggered. Managed to catch himself before he fell on his face. Corvo muttered a string of curses under his breath. He needed an elixir. Food. Something. Anything. He needed to get back.

He’d made it around the corner, to a small beach at the river’s edge, when his legs tired out again. Corvo stumbled onto his knees. He grit his teeth and tried to push himself up.

“Fucking move,” he growled.

In his frustration, he blinked forward a few metres and ended up on his back in the wet sand. The rain poured down onto his face. Corvo lay there, his expression a mask of indifference while his body processed the pain it was in.

A rat scurried past him, pausing to nibble at his shoulder. Corvo glowered at it. “What do you want?”

The rat squeaked and scampered away.

Corvo closed his eyes. Everything hurt and the harsh truth sunk in. He wasn’t making it back to Rudshore like this. Not on foot, at least, considering his feet didn’t seem to be working.

He huffed a laugh. Escape the High Overseer’s Office alive. Die from fatigue and starvation. How anticlimactic.

“Oh my. Excuse me?”

With effort, Corvo turned his head sideways. Through the rain he made out a figure by the riverside. Corvo hadn’t noticed him there before. There was a small boat beside the man, and in his hand, a familiar lighter.

“I don’t know if you remember me, sir,” Samuel said. “But you look like you could use some help.”


	3. Rudshore

Samuel steered the Amaranth along the river. A heavy fog lay over the water’s surface, and made the air feel thick and murky. Samuel’s boat wasn’t comfortable, but after a week of cold floors and metal chairs, Corvo wasn’t complaining.

He _was_ eating. Samuel had given him a loaf of bread some time ago. It was stale and tasteless, and Corvo cherished every bite. He was trying to make it last, but his hunger battled his resolve. Corvo studied the boatman while he ate. A lot of beige clothes going on there, save for the blue scarf on his neck. Unkempt beard and sideburns. Fingerless gloves.

Samuel noticed him staring. “There something you need? All you have to do is ask.”

“Your gloves. If you don't mind.”

Samuel raised an eyebrow, but slowed the boat and tugged the gloves off. Corvo slipped them on. He didn’t want his recent mark causing a fuss yet. His return from the dead would do enough of that for today.

“You’ll get them back.”

“No hurry at all, sir.” Samuel examined him. “Might I ask, how is it you escaped the Overseers’ nest?”

“You wouldn’t believe me,” Corvo said around his new mouthful of bread. “You saw the last part.”

Samuel hummed. “Looks like you’ve had a bad few days.”

“I’ll live.”

“I imagine you will, if you managed to last in Holger Square for as long as you did.”

The boatman was an enigma, Corvo had discovered. He knew who Corvo was, who he worked for. And yet he seemed to genuinely want to help him. Corvo would ask why, but the facts were the facts. Samuel was helping him, whatever his reasons for it were, and Corvo wasn’t about to hassle him for details.

“Thank you for this.”

Samuel waved it off. “No thanks necessary, sir. You looked like you were in a bad way back there.”

“Why were _you_ there?”

“Haven’t the foggiest,” the boatman said. “Just decided to pull up on the shore for a while. Have a smoke and wait for the rain to clear before heading further up river. Lucky I stopped where and when I did, eh?”

Corvo didn’t answer, but he suspected luck had naught to do with it. The mark on his hand felt warm.

Samuel turned the boat around the corner. Corvo recognised the factories to their left. Not long now.

He dipped his hands into the water a few times, washing the blood from his hair and face.

“Mind the hagfish,” Samuel warned. “A lot of ‘em around these parts.”

“I know.” Corvo unknotted a lace from one of his boots, and tied his hair back with it.

Samuel’s eyes creased with sympathy when he saw Marcus’s handiwork. “Those burns will scar.”

A scar came to mind. Long, and running jagged across a grey-blue eye. “It doesn’t bother me.”

“The bruises and scratches should heal right up, though. Should only take a few weeks.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” Corvo repeated. He was bemused by Samuel’s compassion. “At least everything still works.”

“True. True,” the boatman answered. “Got a few scars myself from those river krusts. Worth going near, though. For the pearls.”

“You’re calm for someone harbouring a fugitive.”

Samuel blinked at his frankness. “Truth be told, I’m not fond of what the Overseers have become lately. They used to help the normal folk, and keep people fed and safe. Now they’ve just become– what’s the word? Overzealous, about their seven strictures. Not caring what they do or who they hurt to get their message across. That doesn’t sit right with me.”

He steered the boat into shallower waters.

“So as strange as it might sound, you’re not really a fugitive in my eyes.” Samuel pulled at his scarf awkwardly. “Sorry, sir, I’m probably rambling. You’ll have to forgive me.”

Corvo felt his expression soften. “Corvo.”

Samuel smiled. It made him look younger. “Corvo.”

The boat rounded another corner, and the Grieves Refinery came into view amidst the early morning fog. Corvo saw a dark silhouette moving into of the warehouse opposite. He frowned. That building was only used when they had prisoners.

“Pull up here.” Corvo stood, and blinked onto the ruined flood wall when Samuel steered them nearer. “Stay until I let my people know you’re not a threat.” He paused, wondering if he needed to say it. “They don’t take well to outsiders.”

The boatman chuckled.

Corvo guessed he hadn’t needed to say it. “You’ll be alright waiting?”

“Don’t worry, sir– Corvo,” Samuel corrected. “I’ll be here.”

Corvo followed the flood wall to the base of the prisoners’ warehouse, and began to scale it up. He was still weak, but the food and rest had done him some good. He made it to the top quicker than he’d expected.

Inside, there were around a dozen Overseers; their masks removed and each confined in a separate cage. Their gear and Abbey robes were being sorted through by Rinaldo at the back of the warehouse.

“Release me, heathen!” One of the Overseers, hard-eyed and greying hair, had his head pressed through the bars and was scowling towards Rinaldo. “You cannot keep me here!”

Rinaldo sighed. “I can, Overseer Pierce, and I shall.”

“Bastards! The lot of you,” Pierce spat. “All bastards!”

Rinaldo merely continued cleaning the sabres on the work surface.

Corvo stepped inside. “Rinaldo.”

The Whaler stopped dead when he saw him. The blade he was holding clattered harshly onto the tiles. “Corvo?”

“Yeah.”

“Seriously– Corvo? It can’t be– we all thought–” The Whaler swallowed visibly, checking Corvo up and down. “Holy shit. What happened to you?”

Corvo’s hands itched to hide his burned jaw, but he kept them at his sides.

“How the hell did you escape?”

“I have to talk to Daud about that first.” Corvo tugged at Samuel’s glove, making sure his left hand was covered. He looked at the Overseer prisoners. “I heard all Hume’s men had been killed.”

 _“Most_ of them.” Rinaldo winced. “Once Daud heard that the Overseers were here, and that Billie was with them... I’ve never seen him fight like that before. It was a massacre.”

Rinaldo filled Corvo in on the events of the previous week. Their discovery of Delilah’s hideout, their search for Lizzie stride, their capture of the Overseer prisoners. The six men they lost.

“I’m sorry,” Corvo said. “You and Leon were close.”

“Yeah,” Rinaldo gave a sad smile. “He went down fighting. They all did. We’ll get that witch back for them, and make sure they didn’t die for nothing. And you’re back now,” he added. “One less good man we’ve lost.”

The words made Corvo self-conscious, but it wasn’t an unpleasant sentiment. It felt warm, and stirring, and far better than not being able to feel at all, which is what the alternative would have been if he’d remained in Holger Square.

“Is Daud at the office?”

“He’s with Rulfio. They’ve been arguing since sunrise. Daud’s been worse than ever since the attack and Billie, and you being taken and killed. Or so we thought.” Rinaldo shook his head, taking Corvo in again. “Outsider eyes, this is weird. So weird.” He ran a hand through his hair and let out a long breath. “I feel like I’m talking to a ghost.”

“And I feel like I’m about to pass out.”

“If we’re being honest, you do look like shit.”

“Thanks.” Corvo glanced around again. He wanted to talk to one of the Overseers, perhaps get a better viewpoint on the attack. No doubt Daud had already had each man questioned, but Corvo’s curiosity won out over that logic. “I need a favour.”

“Name it.”

“There’s a boatman by the flood wall. He’s not a contact, but I trust him. He got me here.”

Rinaldo nodded for him to continue. If Corvo could trust this boatman, so could he.

“Can you show him to the old docks? He needs somewhere for his boat while he’s here.” Corvo wavered, then added, “Take him to Daud. The others need to know he’s not a threat.”

“Sure, I can do that. I was just about finished here anyway. Should I let Daud know you’re back while I'm there?”

Corvo swallowed. “Yeah. I won’t be long.”

“Alright.” Rinaldo passed Corvo by, squeezing his shoulder. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too.”

Rinaldo disappeared, and Corvo walked further into the warehouse. The Overseers were shuffling uncomfortably at his presence. Towards the back of the room, a redhead, young and freckled, cowered in the corner of his cage. Corvo crouched in front of it. This one looked more inclined to talk than the others, who were much older and likely more disciplined.

Corvo rapped on the bars with his knuckles. The clang echoed, and drew the young Overseer’s attention from where he was huddled. His eyes snapped up; green and obviously afraid. Not unlike a rat caught by a wolfhound.

“Wha– What do you want?”

“Not to hurt you. But if it comes to that...” Corvo left the threat clear and hanging.

The redhead swallowed, and tightened his arms from where they hugged his drawn up knees.

“What’s your name?”

“Al– Alfred,” he stammered. “Brother Alfred.”

“You’re no brother here.” Alfred flinched at Corvo’s sharp tone. “You were a trespasser, and now you’re a prisoner. Understand?”

Alfred nodded rapidly. His eyes darted over Corvo’s form. “Are you going to kill me?”

Corvo tried to soften his next words. The kid couldn’t have been any older than him. “You won’t be harmed. If you cooperate.”

Some tension left Alfred’s shoulders, and he nodded again.

“Tell me what you saw during the attack.”

Alfred blinked. “Your people have already questioned us about–”

“ _I’m_ asking you.”

Alfred’s mouth closed.

“What did you see?”

“Hume had taken the whole Commerce building. It was quiet for ages, but then the assassin came and killed him. Cut off his arm and his head in the office. It was so fast, all of it. I didn’t realize what had even happened until it was over.”

Corvo’s thoughts raced. Daud striking down Hume and his men all over the District. He had been so adamant not to kill after the Empress, had restrained himself all during their search for Delilah. Daud must have truly been pushed to the edge when he’d returned to find Rudshore taken over.

“When did Delilah first make contact with you?”

“A few months ago.”

“More specific.”

“Uh– six. Six months ago.”

Corvo chewed on the inside of his mouth. “Was Billie with her, the first time she came to you?”

Alfred faltered. “Was– uh, who?”

“The other woman. Dark skin, red coat.”

“Yes. Yes, she was always there. She never spoke to anyone directly, except for the witch. She followed her around every time they came to make the plans for the attack–”

“Silence yourself this instant, Brother Alfred!”

Corvo peered over his shoulder, to the cage opposite where Overseer Pierce was being held. The older man’s mouth was set in a snarl beneath his beard.

“Do not give into the threats and temptations of their black magic,” Pierce commanded. “Stay faithful to the strictures, and nothing can–”

Corvo stalked to his cell, grabbed the man’s collar and yanked him forward, knocking his head hard into the bars.

“Interrupt again, and I’ll let the rats have you.”

The Overseer’s eyes were fierce, and he rubbed at the newly blossoming bump on his forehead. “What do you threaten me with, heathen?! I see no rats.”

Corvo didn’t answer him, and instead returned to Alfred’s cage. He crouched again to the young Overseer’s height. “Ignore him. Talk.”

“I, um– The witch and her companion came to make their plans at the office, in the archive room.” Alfred wet his dry lips, glancing at Overseer Pierce nervously, and then he continued. “I wasn’t allowed in there often. I just bought drinks when Hume told me to, and I didn’t go near the witch. She made me nervous."

“But you knew the attack plan.”

“The basics. I’m not– uh, I _wasn’t,”_ he corrected, “ordered to join the attack itself. I mostly just carried the equipment. And tried not to get in the way.”

“What was the end game?”

“The– the what?”

“What did Delilah offer you, in exchange for your help?”

“Oh. Power, mostly. I think.” Alfred hesitated. “She said if we managed to take this place over for her, we’d be protected once her plans were finished.”

“Protected?”

“Safe, from her. And that the Abbey would be given more influence under her rule.”

“Her rule over what? Rudshore?”

Alfred gave a helpless, one shouldered shrug. “I don’t know. _Really_ ,” he insisted when Corvo narrowed his eyes. “That’s all I heard. I don’t know what she meant. I didn’t even kill anyone, I just–” He slumped down, expression humiliated. “I just hid. I didn’t want to fight. I wish I’d never even come here, this was all a mistake.”

Corvo knew a liar when he saw one. This kid was an Overseer, but he was an honest one, at least. “That’s everything you know?”

Alfred nodded.

“Everything?”

“I swear on my life.”

“Hmph.” Corvo got to his feet. “Do you have a family? Someone you left behind? I’ll know if you lie.”

“An aunt. In the Distillery District.”

“You’ll be returned to her safely in due time. For your cooperation.”

Alfred sagged against the cage in relief. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Corvo gave a stiff nod, then stepped to return to the exit.

“You stupid boy, Alfred!” Pierce spat from his cage. Corvo stopped. “You useless, ignorant boy, cooperating with an honorless heretic!”

“Honorless?” Corvo felt himself stand straighter. “I’ve shown mercy to your comrade. And I didn’t cut down six good men in cold blood.”

“Good men!” Pierce scoffed. “Worthless heathens, the lot of them. The world is best rid of men like that.”

Corvo calmly returned to the Overseer’s cell. Pierce stood at the bars, scowling, red-faced, contemptuous.

“My mercy has limits.” Corvo raised his left hand. “And you’re wrong, Overseer Pierce.”

The Outsider’s mark flashed, and Pierce shrieked as shadows slithered up from the ground beneath his feet, curling around him and quickly forming into a horde of rats. Frozen opposite the scene, Alfred watched with his mouth agape. Each summoned creature swarmed Pierce, sinking their teeth into his flesh and tearing. The Overseer continued to scream until what was left of his body dropped onto the cage floor.

“The world is best rid of men like you.” Corvo walked to the exit, and the rats scurried back into the shadows.

***

He stayed hidden when he neared the Chamber. Corvo needed to reach the office unimpeded, and no doubt his return would cause quite the stir among the men. There would be questions, concern. Probably touching. Corvo just wanted to see Daud, and then sleep for three days straight.

He went through the training room, but it was empty. No pups, no Rulfio. Once inside, it hit him that he’d expected never to see the damaged walls and crumbling ceilings again. Corvo laughed at himself when he unconsciously began running his fingers over things; the training dummies, the wristbows, any surface close to him.

“Sentimental,” he muttered, and he moved on.

Corvo came to a halt at the office. Rinaldo had brought Samuel there, as he’d asked. The boatman had backed off from the others. Wise, Corvo credited him, considering Daud had Rinaldo pinned against the wall with a hand around his throat.

“He’s here, I swear–” Rinaldo was choking out. “I saw him–”

Daud snarled. “You think this is a fucking joke?” He looked the same as ever. Brows furrowed. Expression the epitome of frustration. Corvo’s legs felt weaker than before.

Rinaldo’s feet were kicking above the ground. “Sir, I swear–!”

“He swears, he says! Corvo’s alive, he says!” Rulfio scoffed. “You should be fucking ashamed if you thought this would be funny.”

“I concur.” Daud tightened his grip on the Whaler’s neck.

Samuel stepped forward. “Uh, I believe I can vouch for the young man–”

Daud head snapped towards him. “I’ll get to you in a moment,” he warned.

Samuel backed off again.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re playing at, Rin,” Rulfio growled, “But its sick. How could you come here and–”

“It’s true, I–” Rinaldo’s face was turning purple in Daud’s grasp. “Please, Sir–”

Daud’s fingers curled, and Rinaldo spluttered.

Corvo shoved the doors open. “Let him go.”

Then their eyes were on him. Corvo may as well have walked in there stark naked; it would have done just as well to cause the silence that followed. Corvo wasn’t expecting the onslaught of emotions, and fuck, the way they looked at him... _Like a ghost_ , Rinaldo had said.

Rulfio had to grab the desk to steady himself. “Corvo?”

Daud’s grip grew slack, and Rinaldo dropped to the floor. The Whaler rubbed his neck, “No one ever shitting listens around here,” he mumbled.

Rulfio crossed the room in three long strides and pulled Corvo into his arms. Corvo waned against him and let himself be held. Rulfio was warm and smelled familiar, and Corvo felt his jaw starting to wobble. _Sentimental_ , his thoughts repeated, and he choked out a laugh into Rulfio’s shoulder.

“Oh, fine fucking time to find a sense of humour.” The words tried to be cutting, even, but Rulfio’s voice trembled. “Outsider’s eyes, I thought you were gone, you stupid, stupid–” he stopped and clutched Corvo tighter, painfully tighter; fingers digging into Corvo’s shirt.

Corvo buried his head in Rulfio’s jacket, feeling his throat close and a pressure build in his chest. He grit his teeth. He had been tortured, ridiculed and almost starved. He would _not_ cry over this, of all things.

Rulfio grabbed his shoulders and drew back, checking Corvo’s face. His eyes welled when they landed on Corvo’s jaw; on the burnt and beaten skin there. “Fuck–”

Corvo took Rulfio’s wrist when he reached to touch it, stopping him. “I’m okay.”

“Fuck.” He pulled Corvo in again. “Fuck, if we’d known you were there, that you were alive, we would’ve– you know we would have–”

“Sentimental old man.” He felt Rulfio smile against his collarbone. “I’m okay,” Corvo repeated. He meant it. He’d been taken to Holger Square, and should, by all past accounts, be dead. He wasn’t. A few burns and bruises weren’t going to trouble him.

“Get out.”

Corvo’s muscles froze at the voice, on pure impulse. He’d always wondered if that happened because of the Arcane Bond, or whether it was just because of the man himself.

Rulfio loosened him and glanced back, not bothering to wipe his eyes.

“All of you, out,” Daud ordered again. His tone was hard, despite the quiet words.

Rinaldo edged around Daud and led the boatman to the doors. Samuel gave Corvo an assuring nod, letting him know not to concern himself with him for now; he was in capable hands. Rulfio lingered, giving Corvo’s arm a tight squeeze before following the pair from the office.

Corvo knew he had to stay put.

So he stayed put, feeling the walls getting closer and closer. It was claustrophobic, for such a large space and for the fact that the two of them were now alone. They spent a few seconds as they were; apart, with twenty floorboards separating them. Corvo counted each one until his eyes reached Daud’s face. The man had never looked like _that,_ and reality started to sink further in. Their last time together had been an argument. And Corvo had truly been thought dead.

And then he was in Daud’s arms. Corvo didn’t know which of them had moved. He knew that Daud smelled of smoke and metal and gunpowder, and he completely enveloped Corvo’s slender frame. Corvo knew he felt missed. Safe. _Cherished_. Tears finally broke free. The small drops made the shirt over Daud’s shoulder dark where they fell.

“Forgive me.” The words were rough, and pressed against the burns on Corvo’s jaw. “I’m sorry.” Corvo pushed closer, and Daud’s gloved fingers carded through his hair. Desperate. Reassuring. “I’m so sorry.”

Corvo was relieved Daud had dismissed the others. It was selfish, but this was for them. Like the night of Jessamine’s murder, this was theirs. No one else would have it.

With his arms around Daud’s shoulders, his left hand was in sight. Corvo stared at it, knowing what lay beneath the gloves, then closed his eyes, pressing back into Daud’s hair. It could wait. Corvo decided even a deity would have to wait until he was willing to let this moment go.

***

“Greedy bastard,” Quinn scolded. “Eat slower, or you’re going to choke.”

“You choke,” Corvo muttered, tearing another piece of bread off with his teeth.

Quinn shook his head, and couldn’t pin down his smile. “Can’t believe I missed you. You’re such a brat.”

“He is,” Rulfio agreed. “But shut up and let him eat.”

Hobson had cooked up what looked like half the kitchen, after Rulfio had clucked and clucked and then dragged Corvo down there. It was late evening now, and the room was lit by a few lanterns scattered here and there. It was nice, contrasted to the bleak hallways of Campbell’s Office.

Samuel had joined them, and then Quinn once he had gotten back from his assignment. The Whaler had broken Corvo’s nose when he saw him, and then refused to let him go for a good ten minutes. Corvo winced when he wrinkled his nose; still broken. He glared at Quinn from across the table.

A cup of coffee found its way in front of him, and then Daud sat on the table, his boots resting on one of the chairs beneath. He hadn’t let Corvo leave his sight since that morning. He picked at one of the loaves Corvo hadn’t gotten to yet; he didn’t look like he’d eaten much that past week either.

Corvo sipped at the coffee. Black, which he’d never liked. He drank it all.

“So, you really brought him here, all the way from Holger Square?” Quinn questioned Samuel. “That’s quite a journey.”

“It was no trouble,” Samuel said. “And you’ve all been very hospitable. For assassins– I mean, for –” The boatman stopped, self-conscious.

Quinn grinned. “It’s alright. We _are_ assassins. And it’s the least we can do,” he added, glancing at Corvo. “This one’s a shit, but we like him.”

“Speak for yourself,” Rulfio muttered, and Corvo kicked his shin under the table.

“You’re welcome here for as long as you wish,” Daud told Samuel.

“Oh, thank you, sir. As long as you’re sure I’m not imposing.”

“You’re not,” Corvo said. He’d grown fond of the boatman in the short time they’d been acquainted. It wasn’t everyday you met such a selfless man in Dunwall.

“What is it you do, anyway?” Quinn asked. “At a guess, I’d say you certainly don’t work under the Regent.”

“I ferry packages, mostly,” Samuel answered. “I know some scavengers here and there, whose businesses have grown since the spread of the plague. A horrible reason to be making money, but profits on the black market have improved, it’s no question,” he explained. “I carry their supplies across the river for them, when they want to trade or make a delivery. It was just by chance that I was passing by Holger Square last night.”

Corvo felt his mark itch again. He ignored it and placed his hand on his leg, under the table. Daud glanced at the movement.

“So you’re a criminal of the state too,” Quinn mused. “You’ll fit right in here.”

Samuel smiled humbly, and the two continued talking for a while. Corvo zoned out, and Daud steadied his shoulder when he almost swayed off his seat.

He slipped into the chair beside him. “You alright?”

“Tired,” Corvo answered. He tapped his fingers against his knee. “I have to talk to you. Alone, preferably.”

Daud didn’t question him further. “Rulfio, Quinn, show him where he can sleep,” he ordered, jerking his head towards Samuel. He stood, and made sure Corvo didn’t fall over when he got to his own feet.

“We call it the ‘royal suite’,” Quinn told Samuel. “Because it’s the only room not falling to pieces.”

 _“You_ call it the ‘royal suite’, Quinn,” Rulfio sighed. “Because your brand of humour is appalling.”

They bickered, the boatman in between them, until they left the kitchen.

“We’ll go to the office,” Daud said, ushering Corvo through the doors. They walked down the corridor. “I’ve told the men to leave it be tonight.”

“What if someone’s found Stride?”

“Then I’ll know tomorrow.” Daud caught him when he stumbled.

Corvo growled in annoyance.

“I’m astounded you can walk at all,” Daud remarked, holding open the office door for him. “I should order you to rest.”

Corvo hummed and leaned against the desk, glad for the support it gave him.

Daud stood against the lockers opposite, and folded his arms. “If you wanted to speak about what a fool I’ve been, I can assure you, I’ve already had every possible conversation with myself on that matter.”

Corvo lowered his gaze, and found himself smiling. “I think I already told you to go fuck yourself.”

“I believe your exact words were, ‘fuck you’,” Daud supplied.

Corvo opened his mouth, and Daud raised a hand to stop him.

“If you’re about to apologise for that, I forbid it. I deserved worse.” His eyes grazed over Corvo’s jaw. “It should have been me.”

“I’m glad it wasn’t.”

“Corvo–”

“I’m glad it wasn’t.”

“Stubborn,” Daud muttered. “I don’t deserve your loyalty.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Rulfio said something about the Fugue Feasts.”

Corvo's fingers tightened on the desk. “That man–”

“He thought you were dead,” Daud defended. “We all thought you were dead.”

“It's my business. He had no right–”

He stopped when Daud walked to him and calmly placed his hands on the sides of his arms. Corvo looked up at him defiantly, wanting to explain exactly how he planned to tear Rulfio apart piece by piece.

“What did you want to talk to me about?”

Daud was close. Too close for Corvo’s thoughts to organise themselves quickly. He answered after a few seconds. “How I left the Office.”

Daud nodded for his continuation, removing his hands but not backing off. Corvo was tall, but this close, Daud loomed over him in comparison. Corvo removed Samuel’s glove from his left hand.

Some moments went by, the silence heavy with Corvo’s anticipation. Then fingers crept under his, pulling his hand in for closer inspection. Daud’s breathing was quiet and his mouth was set in a hard line. He wasn’t wearing his gloves either. Corvo felt his skin, warm and rough against his hand.

Daud’s fingertips traced the mark. The gesture felt angry, frustrated. Protective. Possessive. Corvo wasn’t sure which. “What did he say to you?”

Corvo studied his expression. Stern, and eyes focused on Corvo’s hand. “I imagine whatever he first said to you. And Delilah.”

Daud sighed through his nose. “Bastard.”

“I’d be dead if he hadn’t come.”

A grunt. “I have that to thank him for, at least.” He shook his head, releasing Corvo’s hand. “I shouldn’t be surprised. I shouldn’t. It was only a matter of time before he showed himself to you.”

Corvo raised an eyebrow. “You were expecting this?”

“You’re just the kind to attract his attention. I’d be a bigger fool not to expect it.”

“The kind,” Corvo muttered. “Fascinating, as he says?”

“Indeed. Fascinating,” Daud said bitterly. “I always despised how that word sounded coming from his mouth.”

 _“Fascinating,”_ Corvo said in a mock of the Outsider’s voice.

Daud gave a quiet chuckle, and Corvo felt himself smile too. He’d missed the ease with which they spoke, and felt again as though no one else but them existed.

“I missed this.”

Corvo thought he’d said it at first; perhaps his thoughts had slipped out somehow. But he hadn’t.

“More than I should,” Daud continued softly.

Corvo took a chance. They were still standing close, and he dropped his head against Daud’s shoulder, just gently, barely touching. Daud’s left hand came to rest atop his right, where it lay on the desk. His thumb brushed over his knuckles. Corvo let his eyes drift shut. Maybe he had died in Holger Square after all. He didn’t care. He could deal with this as an afterlife.

Another hand touched lightly at his jaw, then became firmer, fingers curving to cup the sharp line of it. He felt Daud’s breath, warm in his hair. “Much more than I should.” The ‘m’s felt like kisses against his scalp, and Corvo wanted more.

He nudged his nose against Daud’s chin, and then felt those lips pressed to his forehead–

Someone came through the doors. “Sir.”

Corvo’s eyes opened. Daud’s growl rumbled against him.

“I scouted around the Tower again, and I–” Thomas froze in the centre of the office. “Outsider’s eyes. Corvo?”

Corvo glared at him. “Good to see you, Thomas.”

“Oh my god. You’re alive?”

Daud's nostrils flared. “What is it, Thomas?”

Thomas blinked a few times, wide eyes focused on Corvo.

“Thomas,” Daud barked.

The Whaler shook himself and placed his hands behind his back, trying to regain his composure. “I’ve found Lizzie Stride, Sir. Getting her to lend us her boat will be a bit complicated, however. She’s in Coldridge.”

Corvo removed his head from Daud’s shoulder. It was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're finally getting somewhere.
> 
> I'm going on holiday next week and the next update may take a little longer, but I will work on it when I can because I'm enjoying writing this very much. I hope everyone has enjoyed so far, and thank you for reading and leaving comments, the support is incredibly appreciated.


	4. Overseer Daud

High Artificer Bartholomew was a cock, though Humphrey would never say it aloud. He wasn’t enjoying his new job.

He was on his way to investigate the witch that had been captured at Coldridge. Bartholomew wanted information on the incident, to further the Abbey’s knowledge of witchcraft. This was Humphrey’s first task as his assistant. He had been about to board the boat, when something sharp stabbed into his neck and his body went slack.

Humphrey woke up in a cage. He really wasn’t enjoying his new job.

His bleary eyes focused on a sign on the wall. _The Grieves Refinery_. Humphrey felt like he was swaying, but when his vision cleared, he realised he wasn’t swaying at all. It was the cage. He peered down through the bars, and felt bile rise in his throat. He was high, too high, suspended above a sickening drop. The way down was illuminated by the glow of spilled whale oil, and the sight was spine-chilling.

Humphrey flinched at the first sign of movement near him. He noticed four figures in the dim light, silhouetted by the large entrance behind them. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw the industrial whaling suits they wore. Whalers. Humphrey’s superior Overseers had talked about these men many times, even more so after Campbell was mysteriously branded a heretic several nights ago.

Humphrey gulped.

“Looks like the princess has finally finished nappin’,” one Whaler drawled from where he leaned against the wall.

“You gave him too much sleep toxin, Arden. He should have woken an hour ago,” another Whaler, dark-haired, said.

“Well, I’m fuckin’ sorry, Attano. What are you, a natural physicist now?”

“Philosopher.”

“Fuck off.”

“Quiet, both of you.” This Whaler was distinct in his red coat, and the squabbling pair immediately silenced. He walked forward, scars and steely eyes becoming clearer the closer he got to the cage. “Your name.”

“Humphrey.”

The leader glanced behind him, at the dark-haired Whaler perched on the back of a chair. “Is he one of the men who interrogated you?”

The Whaler studied Humphrey. Eyes sharp. Piercing. He had burns along his jaw. “No.”

The leader seemed satisfied. “Humphrey. You were summoned to Coldridge Prison. Yes?”

Humphrey faltered. Did he tell the truth? Did he lie? Either way, Bartholomew was going to be pissed. “Yes. I was scheduled to go tomorrow night.”

“Then why were you on your way there _this_ night?”

“High Artificer Bartholomew wanted me to go early.”

The leader gave a grunt, then turned back to his followers. “What do you think?”

The final Whaler, blonde, back straight as an arrow, placed his hands behind him. “I say we wait until the scheduled time, tomorrow, and look over the disguise in the meantime.”

“And check the authenticity of the letter,” the dark-haired Whaler added.

The leader drew a folded piece of paper from his coat. He fixed Humphrey with a stern expression. “This letter. What does it do?”

Humphrey gaped at the letter in question. It had been in the pocket of his robes the last he’d checked. “Bartholomew– the High Artificer gave it to me. It’s a summons from the Coldridge guards. It gives– _would_ have given me,” he corrected, doubting he’d be going to Coldridge after all, “permission to walk freely around the prison, anywhere between the entrance and the interrogation room.”

“You’re certain?”

Humphrey nodded.

“Have you been to the prison before?”

Humphrey shook his head.

“So the guards there wouldn’t recognise you?”

“No.” Humphrey wet his dry lips, deciding he was already in deep shit and it would do him no harm to continue. “We’re not allowed to remove our masks in public, so they wouldn’t have seen my face anyway.”

“Looks like we got the right fuckin’ guy, then.” The Whaler who’d first spoken rubbed his hands together. “Right. Let’s knock him back out.”

Humphrey backed away, making the cage sway more violently, but the leader stopped the Whaler from approaching him.

“Leave him be, Arden. This one’s no threat to us, awake or not.”

Arden looked disappointed, but grudgingly returned to his leaning post.

“Thomas, take him to the cages. Keep him on the level beneath the other prisoners,” the leader ordered. “We’ll return him to his people once we have Stride.”

Humphrey’s eyes widened. He’d been warned about that prisoner, Elizabeth Stride, by Brother Bertram. Apparently three Watch guards had lost fingers going near her cell.

The blonde Whaler, Thomas, opened the cage and bound Humphrey’s hands. Humphrey didn’t even consider trying to escape. He’d never been a fast runner. He tried to look on the bright side of his predicament. At least he wouldn’t have to tidy Bartholomew’s office tomorrow.

“One other thing.”

Humphrey and his Whaler escort turned back. The leader looked a little embarrassed.

“Your people have wolfhounds. How do you go about training them?”

***

Overseer Humphrey’s limited knowledge hadn’t done a lick of good. The wolfhounds were still a nightmare. There were only four of them, but that was all it took to set Daud off on an irritable rampage. Corvo decided Daud didn’t get along with the beasts because he was so alike to them. Bared teeth and temperamental. The similarities were uncanny.

Daud glowered at him when he said so. “Is that what you think.”

“Yes,” Corvo answered shortly. “Stay still,” he added, tugging the Overseer collar up over Daud’s neck.

Daud fidgeted while Corvo worked, clearly uncomfortable in the attire. “Feels wrong.”

“Looks wrong.” Corvo didn’t look up, but he felt Daud’s scowl on him. “Overseer Daud.”

“Don’t,” Daud growled. “This was Thomas’s idea.”

“I know.”

“I told him it was foolish.”

“I know.”

Daud hesitated. “Does it look that bad?”

“I didn’t say bad,” Corvo pointed out, straightening the collar. “I said wrong.”

Before Daud could say more, the doors to the office burst open, and the largest wolfhound they’d rescued in the surge charged straight for Corvo. Daud bit out a curse, while Corvo knelt to greet the beast. It crashed into him and whined its excitement. Corvo smiled as he fussed the boisterous animal.

“Can’t believe I’m allowing them to be kept,” Daud muttered. “Unruly, flea ridden creatures.”

“The men or the hounds?”

Daud heaved a sigh, and didn’t answer him. Andrei hurried in shortly after, whistling the wolfhound over to him. The beast nuzzled against Corvo, oblivious to the call.

“Sorry, Sir, I couldn’t keep a hold of him,” Andrei apologised as grabbed the hound by the scruff of his neck. The beast snapped at him. “Bloody hound. Come on, we need to finish examining you.”

He, Akila and Montgomery had been busy inspecting the creatures’ health in the infirmary. It had taken longer than expected, because they kept escaping to wander the Chamber. For such large beasts, they were difficult to keep track of. Corvo was quickly becoming fond of them.

“Go on,” he urged, nudging the hound back into Andrei’s clutches. The beast went this time without complaining, and Andrei dragged him from the office.

“If we ever find ourselves short of food, perhaps I’ll ask Hobson to make a stew from them,” Daud mused.

“You can’t. The men have named them.”

Daud ran a hand over his face. “Outsider give me the patience for these fools I’ve taken in.”

Corvo inspected Daud’s Overseer robes. They had struggled to find one that fit over his broad shoulders. Even this one was a little stretched. Luckily, they’d had a large selection thanks to the Overseer prisoners they’d captured.

“Got a sabre?”

Daud motioned to the desk, where the sword was laid.

“Mask?”

Daud narrowed his eyes. “You’re worried.”

“I’m thorough.” Corvo frowned and drew close again, fiddling with the collar for the third time. “I don’t know how they’re meant to look. Is there a certain way?”

“I don’t think it matters.”

“It matters. They’ll notice if something’s not right with–”

Daud caught his wrists, gently, stopping him. “You are worried.”

Corvo looked away, defiant. “I’m coming, anyway. So it doesn’t matter.”

Daud sighed. “Corvo–”

“I’m coming.”

“So stubborn.” Daud released his wrists, and turned to examine himself in the mirror propped up against the back wall. “I’ve gone over the plan, with you and Thomas, to within an inch of its life. And we have the letter to give the guards at the gate.” He unfolded the collar from where Corvo had tucked it. “You have no reason to come. And you’re still recovering.”

Corvo went to perch on the desk. “Mont said I’d recovered.” He worked his jaw. The burns had healed as best they would, thanks to health elixirs, Daud’s Arcane Bond, and Corvo’s new mark. But his injuries still felt tight and ached on occasion.

Daud glanced at him through the mirror. “And if I forbade you to come?”

“I’d come anyway.”

“Of course. Idiotic question.”

Corvo hummed his agreement. He picked up Overseer Humphrey’s letter, which would get Daud from the gate to the interrogation room. But not near Stride. “Can I be honest?”

“You always are. Brutally so.”

“You don’t have a knack for stealth.”

“Brutally,” Daud withered, but he motioned for Corvo to continue.

“I do.” Corvo organised his proposal before saying more. It needed to sound perfect if Daud was going to allow him on the mission. “There’s an opening in the wall near the execution yard. I can fit through, go through the yard, then meet you in the interrogation room. You can distract the guards at the gate while I get in.”

As he spoke, Daud came to lean on the desk, beside Corvo’s perch. He fixed him with an irritable look. “You’ve given this a lot of thought.”

“It’ll work.”

“What can I say to make you give this up?”

“Why don’t you want me there?” Corvo was starting to feel dejected. And a little insulted. “I’m capable.”

“I know you’re capable, fuck capable,” Daud snapped. Then he closed his eyes, shoulders relaxing and temper reigning back in. “For the most perceptive man I know, you’re incredibly dim-witted at times. I don’t want you to get hurt again. Especially not for the sake of keeping an eye on me.”

Corvo lowered his gaze. “Was that a comment on how I spend my Feasts?”

“No. I’m flattered by that, if I’m honest.”

Corvo shuffled across the desk, resting a little closer to him.

“You should come with me next Feast,” Daud said after a while. “That way, you can rest assured I won’t get myself killed.”

Corvo suspected he was being teased, but the idea of joining Daud for a Fugue Feast made him flush with pride more than embarrassment. “I wouldn't be good company.”

“I disagree.” Daud stepped in front of him and gently caught his jaw to examine it. Those kinds of touches had become frequent in the days following Corvo’s return. “How’s that feeling?”

The burned skin twinged sharply when he spoke. “Fine.”

“I’ll pretend to be convinced.” Daud’s fingers lingered. “What happened to the man who did this to you?”

“I dealt with him.”

“Did he pay in kind?”

“He paid enough.” Corvo wavered, wondering whether to push. He was tempted to. He was practically purring under the attention. “If I gave you his name, would you kill him?”

“Yes.” There was no wavering on Daud’s part. The word was firm.

“Slowly?”

“Until he begged.”

Corvo shivered. There was a hard, possessive light in Daud’s irises, and it made him giddy. “I’m not giving you his name.”

“Not even if I ordered you to?”

Corvo didn’t answer. He was improving where coyness was concerned. The effect it had on Daud was addictive; frustration and something more intense etched into the lines of the older man’s face. It had been like this the last few days, like a game the two of them had started to play, and Corvo was revelling in the new, heady ambience between them.

“His name, Corvo.”

Corvo said nothing.

“His name.”

“Sorry. Overseer Daud,” Corvo ribbed. “I won’t take orders from a cultist.”

Daud raised an eyebrow, and Corvo’s teasing had the desired effect. Daud slipped the Overseer coat from his shoulders and draped it over the back of the chair. He tugged the gloves off and lay them atop the desk. His hands stilled at the collar, and his gaze held a challenge.

“If you’d be so kind.”

Corvo’s stomach clenched with exhilaration, and he slid off the desk to close the distance between them. He unknotted the collar slowly, fingertips grazing Daud’s neck. There was an inch at most separating them. Corvo felt Daud’s breath, warm and ruffling his hair. He pulled the collar gently down from the base of Daud’s throat.

Daud took his hand, keeping it and the collar pressed against his chest. “His name.”

Corvo’s head swam, but the man’s persistence returned him to reality. “You have more important people to look for. Don’t waste your time on one Overseer.”

“I’ll waste my time on whatever I deem necessary–”

“Daud.” Corvo had moved his free hand to cup Daud’s cheek, awed by his own boldness. For a moment, he expected Daud to snap at him, like the wolfhound had to Andrei. “He paid for it. Drop this.”

Daud huffed sulkily. The man was definitely like a wolfhound. “As you say.”

“And you think I’m stubborn.”

“You are stubborn.” Daud’s fingers released Corvo’s hand, only to start toying with the strands of hair resting behind Corvo’s left ear “Over six feet of stubbornness, right in front of me for ten years, and I never noticed,” he muttered. “What a fool I am.”

“In your defence,” Corvo was proud that his voice didn’t shake, “I’m good at not being noticed.”

“Your absence was certainly noticed, I assure you.”

Corvo rested his forehead on Daud’s shoulder, heart pounding in his temples. “By you?”

“Yes.” A kiss on the side of his head, then at the corner of his eye, then near his nose. “More than it should have been.”

Corvo smiled, the words reminding him of the night he’d returned; the moments before Thomas’s interruption. “Much more?”

Daud chuckled against his lips, and Corvo tried to chase the sound. “Much more.”

Corvo pressed forward to kiss him, warily at first, then with more confidence as Daud deepened it. Corvo couldn’t help comparing it to his kiss with Roland. Roland’s was sweet and sudden and regrettably held no passion from Corvo. This was anything but that. Daud tasted of smoke, and his teeth kept tugging on Corvo’s lower lip.

Corvo tried to get the words out against Daud’s mouth. “If Thomas comes back now–”

“I’ll kill him.” Corvo imagined he wasn’t serious, but the rough edge to Daud’s voice left him uncertain.

When Daud’s tongue skimmed his, Corvo tilted his head to the side to allow him deeper. Corvo was practically on tiptoes to reach him, pushing as close as he could; his fingers raking through Daud’s hair, Daud’s hands holding his hips to grind into them.

As Daud’s mouth travelled hot to the base of Corvo’s neck, tongue sliding, teeth grazing, Corvo followed the line of his jaw up to one of his ears and captured the lobe between his teeth, tugging. Daud bit down on Corvo’s neck in answer, teeth sinking into the skin and then sucking, and Corvo’s vision blurred.

“Fuck–” escaped his lips, and he could barely identify the sound; husky, and far too guttural to be his own voice.

Daud removed his teeth, and Corvo instantly felt the bruise start to form. He wanted more, wanted to press down on them in a few days and remember this. Daud’s lips returned to his, and their next kiss made Corvo’s ears thrum. He was already so far gone, he almost didn’t notice when Daud’s hands found their way under his shirt, to slide around the taut skin of his waist beneath.

The office around them suddenly came back into focus. Corvo grabbed Daud’s arms to stop him. “Wait.” He was breathing hard, almost panting.

He panicked when Daud’s expression became hard, and the man began to back away. “Forgive me. If I got the wrong idea–”

“You haven’t.” Corvo pulled him into another fierce kiss, savouring it in case it was the last one he ever got. Then he gently pushed Daud back. “This isn’t fair, to keep going, unless you know.”

Daud still held Corvo’s waist, fingers roaming reflexively beneath his shirt. But he looked at Corvo with genuine concern. “Unless I know?”

“I haven’t done this before.”

Daud’s expression became knowing. “With a man?” He pressed his lips to Corvo’s forehead, “Corvo, there’s nothing to be nervous–”

“No. With anyone.”

In the silence that followed, Corvo averted his gaze, feeling all of a sudden ashamed. He’d never been ashamed about it before, had never found a reason to. But he’d been coy and teasing for days and now it had led here, and Daud wanted him and he wanted Daud, wanted to make him happy, but he didn’t even know how–

Daud tilted his chin up, but Corvo kept his eyes turned aside. He felt his jaw start to tremble. “I’m sorry.” The words came out thick.

“Corvo. Don’t you dare apologise to me.” Their noses touched again, briefly. Daud’s lips grazed the corner of his mouth. “If you’re certain about this, you can trust me. This doesn’t change anything.”

Relief flooded through him. _I’m ten years certain_ , his mind answered. “If you still want me,” he said aloud, “now that you know.”

“I’ve wanted you for longer than perhaps I realized.”

Corvo was grateful Daud was strong enough to keep him upright; his legs felt like they’d become liquid.

Daud kissed him again, and Corvo felt the man’s laugh rumble through his body. “Outsider’s eyes, and you accuse Rulfio of being melodramatic. You’re so much worse.”

Corvo nipped at his lower lip to shut him up, and then took his hand. He tugged Daud past the bookcase, towards the stairs. His nerves were spiking, mostly from Daud’s touch, partly from the trepidation of where he was going. _You can trust me_. Corvo knew he could, and the words comforted him. He took the stairs two at a time to the bedroom.

***

“I need a drink.” Rulfio fetched two bottles of Gristol cider from their stash by the chimneys, and then sat back beside Thomas at the edge of the rooftop. “So that’s why they’ve been like that the last few days?”

Thomas nodded.

Rulfio took a long gulp from his bottle. “Are you sure?”

“You didn’t see them that night, Rulf.” The Whaler shook his head. “I think I walked in at a bad time.”

“If they were standing as close as you say they were, yeah. You could’ve waited half an hour before going in.”

“I had to let Daud know I’d found Stride. It was important,” Thomas insisted.

Rulfio thought of Corvo. Poor kid. Ten years of pining, to be interrupted _then_ of all times. “They’re alone now, at least. I saw Corvo heading to the office an hour ago. Think he was taking the Overseer disguise for the prison there.”

“Probably best they’re alone,” Thomas said. “Give them both some space to sort out whatever the Void’s been going on between them. I mean, it’s great that Corvo is back. It’s fantastic. And Daud’s been agonising over the Overseer raid since it happened, so he’s obviously glad Corvo’s back too.” Thomas paused, taking a moment to recall the evening of Corvo’s return. “But that first night was just weird.”

Rulfio raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean, weird? Was there more going on, other than when you barged in?”

“I didn’t barge in,” Thomas sighed. “I _walked_ in, calmly, and it happened to be poor timing. And then they eye-fucked for the rest of the night while we were planning how to get into Coldridge.”

Rulfio’s cider almost came out his nose. He rarely heard such filth come from Thomas’s mouth. “And you stayed?”

“Well, yeah,” Thomas replied, frowning. “What choice did I have? We were planning.”

“Oh, Thomas. You precious, fucking imbecile.”

“What was I supposed to do? We were–”

“Planning, yes, you’ve mentioned.”

“So what should I have done?”

 _“Leave,”_ Rulfio said, exasperated. “Outsider’s eyes, Thomas. If two people are eye-fucking each other across the room, you have the common fucking sense to leave them to it.”

Thomas blinked. “Oh.”

Rulfio laughed into his cider. It sounded tinny over the top of the bottle.

“Do you think Daud’s angry with me?”

“How was he when you went to interrogate the Overseer last night?”

“I don’t know. Normal, I guess. Quiet. Quieter than usual. A little tense.” Thomas hesitated. “He’s angry with me, isn’t he.”

“Thomas, ladies and gentlemen. Dunwall’s finest cock block.”

Thomas grimaced, and downed half his cider. They lapsed into a thoughtful silence, Rulfio sipping his drink every few seconds, Thomas likely trying to figure out the exact moment he should have left the office.

“Idiot.”

“Shut up.”

Rulfio finished his cider, deciding he’d order the rest of the men to stay away from the office until tomorrow. He’d just say he was passing the command on from Daud if anyone gave him lip for it.

“That kid fucking owes me,” he muttered. He bumped his shoulder against Thomas’s, drawing the Whaler’s attention. “You should go find Jordan and Galia, interrupt whatever they’re likely getting up to. See if you can’t spread word of your new title. Dunwall’s finest cock blo–”

Thomas knocked the cider bottle against his head, and Rulfio decided mocking him wasn’t worth the bruise that began to form on his temple.

***

There were three times in Corvo’s life he’d ended up somewhere without recalling when or how he got there. The first was on that ship, the day after his sister’s death. The second was when he’d woken in Holger Square’s interrogation room. And the third, he was laid on Daud’s bed, lips swollen, hair mussed, Daud’s tongue running in a slow circle around his cock.

“Fuck–” Corvo breathed, trying to tilt upwards, trying to thrust deeper.

But his hips were under Daud’s hands, pinned down onto the mattress. Daud’s tongue dragged along the vein on the underside.

“Fuck, Daud–”

Daud glanced up, clearly delighting in his anguish. “What?”

“Your mouth, come _on_ –” Corvo urged, breaking off into a moan when Daud’s tongue traced another circle. Corvo’s hands fisted in the man’s hair, pulling, tugging, but not pushing him down. Daud was still his leader and Corvo was still respectful in that regard, even now.

Gradually, working up and down, Daud began to take Corvo into his mouth, then throat. With each movement, Corvo’s breath caught, his hip muscles twitching beneath Daud’s hold. When Daud finally pushed all the way to the base, Corvo cried out, goosebumps erupting across his skin.

“Fuck–” Corvo’s palms slid over Daud’s shoulders, his fingers clawing as the man worked him. _“Fuck–”_

Corvo's gasps started as curses, then devolved into incoherent noises, growing loud enough that he had to take a moment to steady himself when Daud finally pulled off.

As Corvo lay back, catching his breath, Daud stalked up his body, pressing a kiss to the hollow of his neck. Sweat was beginning to build on them both. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Corvo panted. He could barely get the word out. “Holy fuck.”

He felt Daud’s grin, his teeth scraping against his neck, and they began unconsciously grinding together. Corvo’s eyes tried to flutter closed, but it was worth the struggle to keep them open, to watch the muscles of Daud’s shoulders tense and tighten, sinewy under his skin as he rut between Corvo’s splayed thighs. Daud looked as lost in his arousal as Corvo felt, and a rush of pride ran through Corvo at the knowledge that _he_ was responsible for it.

Corvo nudged him. “Move.” Daud edged off him, allowing him to lead, and Corvo slipped off the bed, landing on his knees on the floorboards. He towed Daud forward to sit in front of him.

Corvo leaned up, kissing and licking down Daud’s chest, feeling the man’s hardness brush up against his hip. Corvo shifted into it slightly, causing Daud to grunt. Corvo’s teeth closed around a nipple, and he tugged it lightly, flicking his tongue and feeling Daud’s hips try to buck up against him. Corvo continued his descent down.

He must have looked unsure, because Daud took his chin. “You don’t have to.”

“You don’t want me to?”

Daud huffed a disbelieving laugh. “Outsider’s eyes, look at you. What kind of question is that.”

Corvo preened, and took that as acceptance. “I want to.” He really did, even though he hesitated. “I just, I’m not sure–”

“Take whatever pace you need.” Daud’s patience with him made him shiver in delight. His thumb rubbed over Corvo’s jaw, reassuring. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Comforted, but still uncertain, Corvo leaned forward and gave an experimental lick. The second his tongue touched the head, he forgot about his nerves and his wishing that Daud would talk him through it step by step, forgot everything but the taste; that glowing heat of skin against his tongue. Corvo knew he should probably be taking his time, savouring this, but he felt wound up in his eagerness, as though lingering would give him time to second-guess himself.

He took Daud into his mouth, swirling his tongue lightly around the head. “That’s it,” Daud coaxed.

Corvo started to take him deeper, with more confidence, then deeper with each slow bob of his head, encouraged by the rumbling groans he began to hear above him. He copied Daud’s earlier motion, and smoothed his tongue along the vein on the underside of the thick length. He noticed Daud’s fingers fist in the bed sheets.

 _Must be doing something right_ , Corvo thought, dizzy. He got overconfident, tried to take him all the way in and ended up almost choking.

Daud’s fingers tugged his hair, pulling him away gently. “Easy,” he chided.

Corvo chanced a glimpse up, and the strain he saw on Daud’s face made him groan; Daud’s skin was flushed, the scars and sharp angles smoothed by the clenched jaw and parted lips.

Corvo took a few breaths, then began the motions again. Tongue. Tightening his lips. Taking more, then more. He tried to relax his throat and swallowed Daud down again, moaning as he managed it this time.

A hand curled into his hair. “Corvo–” Daud grunted out his name, and blood rushed to Corvo's head. Corvo pulled off, dragging his tongue along the hot flesh as he did, and then repeated the movement, over and over. The gasps of Corvo’s name began to alternate with curses, not dissimilar to a mantra.

When Corvo gave a particularly hard suck, the grip on his hair tightened in warning. “Enough– Enough. Fuck, I won’t last.”

Corvo drew back, pulling his mouth away. His jaw ached and a salty bitterness coated his tongue, but Daud’s heaving chest and ragged breaths were worth it. He rose, and Daud pulled him to straddle his lap. Corvo held on to his shoulders.

“That okay?”

“Do you have to ask?” Daud rocked against him, and his cock nudged, hard and thick, against Corvo’s thigh. “Can’t you feel what you’ve done to me?”

Corvo’s pride made him bite hard on Daud’s lips as he kissed him again. Corvo rocked with him, the head of Daud’s cock brushing against the puckered ring of muscle between Corvo’s cheeks. His fingers dug into Daud’s shoulders at the strange feeling, and Daud gripped his ass, kneading and squeezing the firm flesh.

“On your front,” he ordered, voice rough and rumbling against Corvo’s ear.

Corvo obeyed, nestling down against the mattress, and the position felt awkward at first. Corvo couldn’t do anything, see anything; couldn’t use his mouth, couldn’t touch Daud. The awkwardness faded gradually as Daud braced himself over Corvo’s body. Daud started with a kiss to the back of Corvo’s neck, the chaste gesture contrasting with the slow rutting of his hips against him. Corvo felt Daud’s cock sliding and nudging between his cheeks, and he shuddered, pushing back into it, the two of them finding a rhythm as Daud moved down his body.

His tongue traced the tattoos running down Corvo’s shoulder blade; three crows, chosen for the irony of his namesake on a drunken night out with Arden, years ago. Corvo had expected to regret it, but he had actually grown fond of it over time. And he certainly wasn’t regretting it now, as Daud’s tongue ran over the dark shapes. Daud continued to slide against him as he moved down; scraping his teeth down Corvo’s shoulder blade, pressing kisses along the dip in his spine, sucking another deep bruise into one firm cheek. When Corvo felt the first hot swipe of Daud’s tongue over him, his breath caught and he flinched away.

Daud caught his hips, chuckling. “Relax.” His tongue returned to its attentions.

Corvo had never sounded so wanton before, had never felt it, not like this. He felt himself loosen, and Daud’s tongue pushed deeper. Corvo ground against the mattress, so focused on the foreign, indescribable sensation that he didn’t notice Daud fumble near the mattress for a small bottle. The warm liquid joined Daud’s tongue, and the first slick finger that entered him hurt. Corvo stifled the hiss that almost escaped from between his teeth, but Daud must have felt him tense.

“I’ll use more oil.” More of the warm liquid trickled down Corvo’s thighs. “You have to relax,” he said gently. “You can trust me.”

 _You can trust me_. Those words again, and Corvo decided he didn’t care if it hurt. But the sting began to ease after a few thrusts, as Daud’s finger moved with an even pace while his tongue still licked around the digit. Another finger joined, and then another, and Corvo was proud when he found himself unconsciously rocking into it, feeling deliciously open and tight all at once. Corvo’s breath left him when the digits inside him curled.

“Don’t– Don’t, or this is gonna be over.”

The man relented with a grunt, and prowled back up Corvo’s body. Corvo turned onto his back, watching him. His stomach cringed with nerves and arousal alike, but the rest of him was melting, engulfed by Daud’s solid weight, pliant to any and every movement the man made. As Daud slicked himself with the oil, Corvo watched the hard muscles ripple beneath his torso. He lightly trailed his fingers over them, relishing the wiry feel under his hand.

Daud caught his wrist and then cupped the underside of Corvo's thighs, and pushing them toward the bed to tilt his hips up. Corvo felt Daud’s length press against him, and the man thrust a few times along the surface first, teasing him, before trying to thrust inside.

The sharp pain jolted him, and he pushed at Daud’s chest. “Wait– Shit, wait.”

Daud did instantly, searching his face for signs of discomfort. “We can try something else for a while, until you’re ready–”

“No, no. I’m...” Corvo was going to say alright. He wasn’t alright. He was overwhelmed. “Keep going.”

Daud slowly worked his way deeper, gently rocking.

"Shit–" Corvo gasped, grabbing Daud's biceps, the strength of his grip making Daud freeze.

"Do you want me to slow down?"

"No. I don't know." Corvo's eyes were barely open, his brows forming a peak. "It's too much."

"Do you want me stop?"

"No, it's good, it's just– It's too much, I don't know how to..." Corvo’s voice trailed off, frustrated, and his grip tightened.

Daud smoothed Corvo’s hair off his forehead. "It’s alright, Corvo." He carefully began to pull out.

"Wait, I didn't mean-"

"It's alright. Here, come here." Daud helped him sit up, then lay on his back instead. "On me," he said, guiding Corvo by the hips. "I should have thought of this before. You're in control. Take it as much time as you need."

Daud’s thumbs stroked the length of Corvo’s waist, the pressure gentle. Patient and reassuring. Corvo’s chest swelled, and he leaned down for a kiss.

When he pulled away, he felt more like himself again, less overwhelmed. He had spent so many nights trying _not_ to think of this, but now Daud was real and warm under him, and Void be damned if he wasn’t going to see this through. Corvo took a breath, and nodded to himself at the new position. This was good. This way he could be in control. Take as slow as he needed.

Corvo centred himself, his jaw cocked to the side with determination. He began to work his way down onto him. The stretch felt like it would rip him in two, and it was too much, far too much. But he worked at it, pushing a little further with each motion. A soft grunt left his lips as he pushed down hard on the last inch, taking Daud all the way in. Corvo’s muscles tightened around the thick length, and Daud had clutched his hips to support him.

Daud sounded strained, from the effort it was taking not to thrust. “Still doing alright?”

“Yeah.” Corvo felt delirious. It was similar to the first time he’d gotten drunk. Head pulsing, pupils wide, skin sensitive and shivering.

Corvo began to move, hips tilting at different angles with each thrust, trying to find the best way to make it less painful. Corvo felt clumsy, losing the rhythm, losing his balance at times. Shit, he had no idea what he was doing. Daud’s hands grounded him a little, firm around hips, and the growls and groans the man kept giving encouraged Corvo to move faster.

But he eventually slowed and rested on one elbow. He felt sweat beading in his hair. “I’m so shitty at this.”

“Shitty?” Daud sounded surprised. Corvo felt him flex a few times, pulsing inside him. “You can’t feel what you’re doing to me?”

Corvo’s breath caught. “Yeah, I can, I just– I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Daud shook his head, almost amusedly. He pushed himself sitting and wrapped his arms around Corvo’s waist. The angle deepened, and Corvo gasped. “Do you want me to take charge again?”

Corvo nodded. Daud thrust up tighter against him, Corvo kneeling in Daud’s lap as their hips rut together. Corvo’s fingers began to bury in Daud’s hair, and his head rolled back, his spine arching. Daud caught him under the chin with one hand, holding his head in place, and he kissed the corner of his jaw, then down his neck, pinching the skin with his teeth. They quickly found a rhythm, and heat clenched low in Corvo’s stomach as he adjusted to the hardening thickness inside him.

“How’s this?”

“Fuck–” Corvo decided most other words were being fucked out of him. “Yeah, better. Much bet– _Fuck! Daud–”_ The name cut off into a cry when Daud’s cock rubbed against a spot inside him that made his body seize up.

Corvo wasn’t going to last long at this rate. He felt himself tighten more, and it made Daud’s teeth sink into the ridge between Corvo's shoulder and neck, trying to muffle the snarl that was building. Corvo’s cock was trapped between them, their movements working it and making their stomachs slick. Corvo could feel that Daud was getting close, too; his torso beginning to twitch and jerk against him.

Eventually, Corvo couldn’t tell whose groans belonged to whom, but he hoped they could be heard as far as Dunwall Tower. Daud’s grip on him became painful, fingers digging into his flesh and forcing him down to counter each of his thrusts. Corvo’s vision blurred. Heat flooded his body and his world narrowed to the feeling of Daud’s body sliding against him, inside him. Daud drove the last few strokes hard, and a rush engulfed him, intense enough to blind him for a moment. Corvo cried out in a wordless moan, his chest heaving in ragged gasps. Daud came seconds later, hands clenching in tight fists against Corvo’s skin, the pressure bursting in hot spurts inside him.

Corvo sank forward, over-sensitised and trembling as Daud still pumped slowly within him. He caught himself against Daud’s chest, his arms hanging limply around the man’s shoulders. The silence was a strange contrast to the harsh breaths and chaos a moment before. Corvo’s ears rang.

After a few moments, Daud nudged him with his shoulder. “As lovely as you are, you’re going to have to get off.” His voice was coarser than ever, and Corvo nuzzled closer. Daud hissed when he shifted his hips. “Corvo,” he warned.

Corvo mumbled an apology and eased off him. His thighs and hips ached, and he fell, dazed, onto the mattress. He was sticky with sweat and other things, but as Daud slumped down beside him and brushed Corvo’s hair back from his face, he decided he didn’t give a fuck. He felt like he’d never give a fuck about anything else, ever again, after what they’d just done.

Daud’s hands drifted across his back. Up, down, up, down. Slowly, leisurely. Corvo lazily arched into each movement. Daud shouldn’t have been comfortable. He was all hard muscles and edges, but Corvo would take him over the bed. Over any bed.

“I’ve made Thomas second in command.”

Corvo frowned up at him. “I’d gathered.”

Daud looked sheepish. Corvo wouldn’t have thought that possible; a wolf looking sheepish. “I would have chosen you. If it weren’t–”

“You don’t owe me an explanation. I wouldn’t have accepted,” Corvo said. “Thomas is better suited to do it.” The Whaler was submissive, affable. Corvo wasn’t and couldn’t be.

Daud nodded his understanding, seeming reassured.

Corvo was hesitant to ask. “What happened to Billie?”

“She’s gone.”

“Dead?”

“Gone. Sent away. When a decision had to be made, I couldn’t–”

“I don’t need an explanation,” Corvo repeated.

“I’m glad you feel that way.”

Corvo’s frown deepened. “Your after sex talk really needs work.”

Daud chuckled. “I’ll bear that in mind for the future.”

 _For the future_. Corvo shifted to lie further atop him, and winced when his hips twinged. Daud’s hands quickly moved there to steady him until he’d settled again.

“We should’ve gone slower.” His sigh ruffled Corvo’s hair. “It’s my fault. It’s been a while. I’m probably out of practice.”

“No. It was...” _Perfect_. “Fine.”

Daud huffed a laugh. The warmth of it against his hair made Corvo curl closer. “I’ll take fine. I’m grateful you have no younger suitors to compare me with.”

"I don't want younger suitors."

Daud shuffled down and nudged his nose against Corvo’s collarbone, nestling there, curved around him like an oversized cat. Corvo held him, and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

“Why haven’t you?”

“Hm?”

“Been with anyone else?”

Corvo considered lying. But he’d never lied to Daud before, and he wasn’t about to start. Especially now. “I never wanted to.”

“With anyone?”

“No.”

Daud’s fingers traced the crow tattoos along the back of Corvo’s neck. “And you don’t partake in the Fugue Feasts, do you.”

Corvo glared into Daud’s hair. “Fucking Rulfio.”

Daud grunted, and the noise vibrated through his chest. “You’ve looked out for me for years, and I never noticed. Foolish.”

“I never meant to make you feel like–”

“I know.” Daud ran his lips against some old scars on Corvo’s shoulder. “I’m glad I know now.”

Corvo closed his eyes. “Me too.” He pulled Daud’s hair between his fingers, making the man lean up into the soft touches. “Who knew. All it took to get here was believing I was dead for a few days.”

Daud made a sound between a sigh and a laugh. “Should I give Delilah my thanks for it, when we meet her next?”

“Sure.” Corvo realized it was different now that they were nestled here instead of having sex. It felt like a completely different position, a different dynamic. Cozy. Safe. He liked it.

“Am I your first everything?”

Corvo felt his cheeks heat up. “Do we have to keep talking about this?”

“No.” A kiss to the underside of his jaw.

Corvo wavered. “Roland kissed me in the Legal District.”

“I heard.”

“How?”

“Thomas.”

His bitter tone made Corvo glow. “Roland was nice. It was a good kiss.” Daud’s answering huff made Corvo grin. He hadn’t grinned in months. “You’re jealous.”

Another grunt, short and sulky in the crook of Corvo’s neck. He was definitely holding Corvo tighter. Corvo decided he wasn’t moving for a very long time.

An overpowering desire to doze was taking hold of them both. Corvo vaguely registered pulling Daud closer, legs tangling with his and into the sheets. Daud rested his head over his heart, and Corvo wondered how fast it was thrumming beneath his ear, before he succumbed to the warm haze of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I can't say how appreciated the comments and support for this fic are, thank you all so much! I've had a wonderful holiday, and I'm really happy to be posting the final chapter of this part. Part 4 is on its way.


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